{kill me? or kill me not?} [Kiah]

[arx!!]

eirwen birch

district 2 - eighteen - the devil's spawn

So what is it with these Blackmore boys and roaming around in dark alleys at night? I mean, I can't really complain as much as I enjoy lurking in the shadows, but it seems that this mission of mine always ends up with me stalking my prey through the shadows, eyes shining, teeth bared - as if I were the hunter and not the hunted. The Blackmore operations are special, and though few truly understand what sort of beautiful missions they participate in, I know that they only want you to believe that you are in control. But even trained professionals such as myself should fear this family - and only the smartest of us don't let our pride get in the way of that fact. (That makes me one of the smart ones, just so that is clear.)

Though my little chat with Logan the other night proved that my venom is potent enough to tame even the fiercest of beasts. A wink here, a smile there, and voila! Perfectly malleable boys within minutes. But something tells me that tonight will be much more difficult. Aragorn Blackmore. Head of house, or at least he played the part at the gathering not so long ago, and he was older than young Logan, even if only by a year. I'm excited really. Tonight will be much more exhilarating than my talk with Logan, though I will admit our conversation was much more ... fun than I had originally expected. Sadly, the boy with bone carved knives was still out of the picture when it came to becoming a Brother of the Asyrian cult.

But that didn't matter much seeing as his family was so large and each of them still were potential candidates. And as far as I was concerned, if we could convince the Blackmore head of household to join us, we would become unstoppable. The Solothurns would finally have their work cut out for them with the Blackmores after them. That's just how talented the Blackmores were, and the Mother of Asyria knew that. That's why my superiors continue to tell me that I need to pursue them and that is also why I found them so interesting. They love killing even more than I do.

I arm myself with my knives (I hid even more beneath my clothes this time around, fearing that Aragorn could be more aggressive than his younger counterpart.) I dress all in black, knives at each of my ankles and a a double chest sheath concealed by my black jacket. I tie back my hair and toss the hood onto my head, hiding each of my tattoos so that I don't draw any attention from those who understand what they symbolize. I just want to talk tonight, nothing more. Recruiting will not come until it is determined that he will be a trustworthy asset. Because without trust in our family, we would have nothing and our power would surely crumble.

Of course, if tonight went well, I fully expected to ... well, share a bed with someone tonight to be quite honest. But that was only if I decided to deem him worthy of a fun night with me. I've mulled over the fact that his good looks may just be used so that he can draw in victims and spit them back out without a heartbeat onto the street, but I figured the risk was worth it. Just as so many boys cannot resist me, there is no way any girl could resist Aragorn. So with my hopes set high, expectations higher, and fully expecting a thoroughly entertaining flirt fest, I jump from my bedroom window and continue stealthily into the night.

I place myself strategically in within the shadow of a building, leaning against the brick wall, waiting patiently to begin an act of sorts. I was ready for a night of fun - one that could top my encounter with Logan - and by adding the element of surprise, I was sure to gain access to the wild side Aragorn for sure. I pull a knife from it's sheath within my jacket and twirl the blade expertly between my fingers. Beauty at its finest. I've always been intrigued by finely crafted blades. And handsome bad boys. Tonight will be a combination of the two - I smile at the thought.

The sound of someone approaching makes me giggle a little, if only because I know that that someone is him. As a dark silhouette comes into view I call out, my heart beating with anxiety and fear - but also exhilaration at the idea of a conversation with one of the best assassins in all of Panem.

"Mr. Blackmore?" I say with inquisitive inflection, though I am certain it is him. "Beautiful night, isn't it?"

---

i’m faking glory
lick my lips, toss my hair
and send a smile over

[k!ah]

ARAGORNBLACKMORE

As soon as had stepped out of the house this evening I knew that tonight was going to be a good one. I could feel it in my bones, I could feel it in the way the gentle breeze danced over my pale skin. No one needed to hold up a sign telling me that I was going to get lucky, no one needed to whisper into my ear that tonights prize was going to be a prize worth ten thousand of the prizes I already had tucked away safety in the compartments of my chest of draws. A smile dances on the edge of my lips I round a corner that would lead me to the place where I knew my prize awaited me.

How many times had I walked down this exact street with exact thought flying through my mind? To many for me to count. So why did I always think the same thing when I was out, uh, hunting- dare I say? Because I knew that if I thought that I was going to get what I desired I was going to get it. I knew that if I told myself that if was going to be worth double anything I have in my possession- I knew it was going to come true. It was revere psychology, or something like that. My sister had droned on about it once, saying to me that if I told myself that I hated torturing and killing people, then I would actually hate doing it. Usually if a family member talked to me in that way, I would slap them over the back of the head and snarl some sort of threat at them… But this was Summer- one of the few family members that I could actually tolerate- so instead, I just smiled at her (a cold smile, but one never-the-less) and told her that I couldn't do that. Because truth be told was that I loved it. I loved to hear their screams as they begged me to stop, I loved the way they struggled against the restraints as I taunted them with the blood stained clamp and told them numerous stokes about women- and the occasional man- who had been in her exact same position.

Once you saw that fear in their eyes, that pain that went beyond just physical pain, you couldn't stop. It was power, and so little people know that feeling of power until they have tried it, until they have that person wrapped around their finger, a toy in their toy box. Once you have felt that power, that feeling when you know that the life of a person was in your hands, you could never go back. You feed on that power until it consumes you. After that, she never asked me again. I knew that she didn't understand, she was one of the few Blackmore’s that tended to avoid killing, she hated it, she hated her dysfunctional family, but she stayed all the same. Maybe it was fear? Fear that if she left one us would go and hunt her down. Or maybe it was fear that if she left she would not survive on the streets on her own. Or maybe she still del safe enough here and it was just uncomfortable for her to be around her flesh eating siblings.

A scowl replaces my smile as I think about the cannibals that lived under my roof. As I think about the sense of joy these sick kids get from ripping the flesh of other human beings and consuming it. It was disgusting. Killing and torturing I could handle, but cannibalism? Cannibalism was something that even disgusted me to lengths that I could barely contain. It was sicken to wake up in the morning to find a fresh stomach in the fridge, or a dying heart. Each time I see it, it takes all I have not to grab the termites by the ears and kick them to the streets, after all if was my mother leaving wish for me to keep them safe, keep our secret hidden. There were very few people out in District two who knew what was really hiding beneath our cool, collected composure.

Sighing I try to push the thoughts of my family to the back of my mind, into a file that says “do not open — ever again.” But then I hear a gentle, inquisitive voice hiding beyond the shadows. I freeze, my eyes scanning the darkness around me. "Mr. Blackmore? Beautiful night, isn't it?” Instantly my eyes catch the slim figure of the girl I know to be Eirwen Birch. She was dressed all in black a hood pulled up so that most of her face swam in the shadows. Instantly I feel as though someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over my head. The Birches were one of the few people who knew about us, making me feel slightly uncomfortable in her presence. But despite my lack of comfort I kept my face smooth, there was no way in hell that I was going to let her know how I felt. I was Aragorn Blackmore, and small pretty girls, like her, weren't going to intimidate me.

“Ahh Miss. Birch,” My voice is almost like a purr as I take a few steps closer to her, all intentions to remove myself from clear view if any pass buyer may have the urge to pass by. “It is Miss, right?” My voice is mocking, but I knew that this girl was not innocent- I mean everything about her seemed to scream trouble. “the night is one of beauty,” I add, addressing her earlier question. I allow my eyes to scan the sky, stars winked down upon us and I smile, turning my attention back to the Birch my mind suddenly flourishing with a marvellous idea. What was the saying? when you could get rid of two problems at once, two birds, one stone? A Birch was a problem, not only to me but to the rest of my family. And her stopping me, from what I presume, to be a successful night, was also another problem. But that was ok, I could fix this… maybe I just had to look somewhere else for my prize tonight… Maybe at my prize was standing in front of me right now. I smile and tilt my head to the side slightly. “Well aren't you looking stunning tonight,” my voice is no longer tainted with an edge, but flourishing with a new found goal.

[arx!!]

eirwen birch

district 2 - eighteen - the devil's spawn

I've been keeping track of this family for quite some time now. It's my job really - to know all things dark, mysterious, and deadly. I remember during my younger years how hard it was to fit in because of my belief in the ... "darker" parts of the world we live in. Now I'm sure everyone in this place thinks that the Hunger Games in the darkest, most horrific and inhumane thing in the world that we live in, and for all I know, they could be right. (How am I to know? I've never lived through it.) But as far as I have seen, their is much worse than simply being felled by a single slash of a sword.

And the Blackmores can certainly deal worse.

I learned this even from one of the most timid - Logan, attached to my biological sister at the hip, totally worthless when it comes to joining Asyria - and I know that tonight, approaching "Mr. Head of Household" himself will be much more dangerous than my encounter with his younger brother. Logan was more than just a little bit of fun (oh yes, he was tons of fun, not just a little) he was also rather informational. I had assessed him as too soft, too attached to Milo, and not suited for Asyria. But after running my fingertips along his knives - the knives he wore around his neck like trophies, the finger bones of his previous kills - I had certainly been proven wrong.

He will still not be chosen to become a Brother of Asyria, but I know now that his siblings should be much, much more promising if they are even half as talented as Lover Boy Logan is. Meeting with Aragorn tonight would be the proof that Asyria needed to advance in this whole case with the Blackmores. If I got the information I needed - that he truly was filled to his very core with blood lust and nothing more - then they would eventually approach him. Or at least when his exceptional skills were needed. And with so many little vigilantes running around this place ruining all the fun, his services surely would be needed.

But his skills were undeniable. My job was not to see how skilled he was - I already knew he was dangerous to even be approaching, know he is deadly. I need to figure out if Aragorn knows to how to keep his pretty mouth shut, or if he likes to brag about his kills. I need to know if everything he is asked to do will remain confidential or be spilled to some other very threatening people. And based on what I have heard and seen, he is rather professional - just as long as all rage remains hidden tactfully behind a broad smile and twinkling eyes.

Okay so maybe I have this slight crush on him. What's it to you? One assassin to another - pure appreciation for an art. Aragorn is one of the best there is, and tonight, I get to talk with him. Most girls might cringe in fear if they knew what I knew about this boy, and rightfully so, but I am not most girls. I have never been most girls. I dress up like I am one of them, do career training like I am one of them, put in bright make-up and lipstick and clothes and masquerade around the District like I belong in the same category as they do, but again, I have never been nor ever will be "most girls." I'm much too fun for that.

“Ahh Miss. Birch.” And his voice sound like a purr - like a contented lion as he attempts to try and approach his prey but cannot contain his eagerness. And so the game has begun.

“It is Miss, right?” I scoff, standing up straight and grinning. As if he didn't know me ... He takes slow steps closer and I cock my head. "Cute." I say under my breath, yet loud enough for him to hear.

“The night is one of beauty.” And to his credit, he actually plays into the little game I have started. All formalities. All unnecessary formalities. But entertaining all the same. He looks to the sky for a moment before turning back to me with a smile. That smile that makes girls' knees buckle beneath them, cheeks blush beet red, and of course giggle incessantly. I decide just to take my hood off.

“Well aren't you looking stunning tonight.” It is all I can do to not burst into laughter - not the giggly kind of laughter, but that kind that makes you roll around on the ground and clutch at your stomach as the muscles begin to ache. Instead I only smile back at him and raise an eyebrow.

"Again," I begin, "Cute." But despite my playful banter, I can feel my heart beating faster and each of the blades I conceal against my body. My muscles are twitching, ready to move at the first sign of a threat. I'm ready for his move to be one of violence - I am aware that he sees me as the enemy, as a stupid, worthless Birch, (and yes, that was a pun of sorts. Haha, yeah?) but I decided to leave that behind long ago. I only use it to promenade freely about District 2 now. I am a Sister of Asyria now - not a Birch. But it wasn't exactly like he knew that. I highly doubted he cared. Thus I would play it as safe as possible.

Or that's what I should be doing. But I'm not one to sit on the sidelines. Much too bold. Too proud. I take a few slow steps closer still, arms still crossed, smile still plastered on my face, head still cocked to the side.

"But you should know that this little Miss Birch," I say, mocking his earlier words, stopping in front of him. "Is not easily flattered by compliments." I bat my eyes at him, then begin to circle around him, letting my sparkly pink fingernails (disgusting, right?) run over his shoulder. "You see," and I lean over his shoulder, pressing my lips close to his ear, and whisper with a smile, "I've outgrown them." I step away, leaning back against the wall once more. "So, boy," I say, mocking him in the way he has already mocked me by using "Miss."

"What else can you offer me?"

---

i’m faking glory
lick my lips, toss my hair
and send a smile over

[k!ah]

ARAGORNBLACKMORE

Her arms are crossed as her hood falls from her face, revealing a small smile which was painted against her pale skin. Her eyes danced but I could tell by the way her arms twitched ever so slightly that she was uncomfortable in this situation, only making my smile grow. Eirwen has always been one of the more mysterious Birch's if you were to ask me. Many of them were confident, they were proud and they didn't hold back, but this girl was more of a shadow, lurking around in the corners, not wanting to stick out, it makes me realise just how little I really knew about the girl in front of me, making my wide smile falter- only for a mere moment, before I rebuild it, my eyes transforming as the words begin to slip past her painted lips.  

"Again, cute." She speaks playfully, as though she has overcome her earlier discomfort, but I was a predator and I had grown up watching, always watching, and I could see, even if it was only the smallest give away, that she was still nervous (But kudos to her, she was much better than one would have thought when it came to hiding how she truly felt, making me wonder, who really this girl was.)

She takes a few steps closer and I raise my eyebrow at her, as though I am challenging her to move even closer, but she stops, her arms crossed, her head tilted slightly to the side making her long hair fall down the left side of her shoulder. She was right in front of me though, so close that if I were to reach out with my arm I would effortlessly he able to brush a lock of her dark hair behind one of her ears, but I don't. I wait, my eyes watching her every move, like a catch observing his prey.

"But you should know that this little Miss Birch... Is not easily flattered by compliments." (which was true, most girls would have flushed a bright red at my previous words, their eyes would have averted and they would have struggled to find the right words to thank me, but not this Birch, she barely even bated an eyelash.) She looks up at me through her eyelashes, batting them ever so slightly. This time I raise both my eyebrows because I am almost surprised how calmly this girl is playing along with my games. Surely she knows how it works, she would have heard of me, her being part of the Birch's and all, but yet here she was, her game stronger than my own. Maybe I was wrong to have thought tonights prize was going to be good, maybe.... just maybe it was going to be the best one so far.

She steps closer, a hand reaching out to my shoulder as she moves around me. Her fingers trail ove my shoulder and it surprises me when I feel a small shiver run though my body. It was not often that my victim was above me, taking the first steps, playing me right into their hands, instead of the other way around, and something about it, something about the way she was the one in control excited me. Then I feel her lean in, her lips so close to my ear that I can feel her breath kiss the skin of my ear. "You see," her voice is a whisper, I didn't have o see her face to know that she was smiling, I could feel it. "I've outgrown them. So, boy," (I luagh now, her words mocking my early ones.) "What else can you offer me?"

She leans back against the wall, and I turn so that I am facing her fully. What could I offer her? It seems like to me she wasn't interested in playing nice. I was a polite guy, when it came to things like this. I flattered the girl, made her feel special, before I took away what I wanted, but tonight it seemed that I was going to have to play a different game, one that I have wanted to pay for so long now. What was the point in being gentle when it was so obvious that this girl wanted none of that? 

Suddenly my face was no longer the mask of a gentleman, it was one that almost appeared to be slightly twisted. My lips curled in the corners and I move closer to the birch, so close that only a thin wall of air was separating the two of us. "I don't need to play the gentleman, if you don't want me to. Most girls like the act of flattery, but you aren't like most girls, aren't you?" I purr coldly. "Who are you? Your a Birch, but you aren't like the rest of them. You are different, so very different." I tilt my head to the side slightly, examining her delicate features with col eyes. She looked like one of them, but there was something so off about her. Something that I could place my finger on. "If you don't want compliments, what is it that you want from me, Miss Birch? Oh and would you be so kind as to smile for me?" I add my eyes so desperate to see what hide behind those precious lips.